I suppose a week in Abéché that becomes routine, mundane, boring even—especially the week after Bahsir’s indictment that’s had the world talking—is not a bad one.
After much anticipation, preparation, thoughts of what to throw into a backpack in the case of an evacuation, we’re all still here and life is passing as usual: waking up early to the busy morning chatter of the guard’s radios, eating large meals prepared by the compound cook at lunch and dinner, working late hours in the guest house salon, and playing volleyball when time and work allows us.
And, as I habituate to life in Abéché, the news of yet another carjacking is less shocking. Following the holiday, there was another hit. This time it was AFRICARE’s national compound. Six armed men entered (apparently, simply by flashign their guns) and made away with a pick-up truck and the guards! Apparently, driving east towards the border, them bandits dropped the guards off, without harming them, in the middle of nowhere. At least two hours later, the guards made it back to Abéché, at least two hours on foot.
I was meant to travel to Bahai on Monday until the country director advised that he still recommended limited travel. Perhaps the holiday on Monday, Mohammed’s birthday, had something to do with it. I celebrated Mohammed’s birthday by working in the quiet office all day long. National staff took the day off, celebrating in their homes with their families—if they have family here that is. Many national staff have chosen to leave their homes, mostly in the south of the country, for such prestigious jobs with NGOs. These positions are so prestigious that employees in Bahai are willing to forfeit all communication with their families. No cell phone network and no (at least limited) computers available to national staff certainly make communication with difficult.
The delay did allow me a bit of exposure Abéché "night life." Friday night the NGO pilots threw a St. Paddy’s day party in their compound. There was no green beer, but plenty of young, non-Francophone, partying pilots. These guys seem to congregate in emergency, conflict-affected zones to cash in on the lucrative business of transporting humanitarians and UN employees. As with many humanitarians in my business, many of these guys worked in Congo and have moved over here to cash bank for anywhere from a couple months to a year. Also, as with humanitarians, they tend to max out and flee after a year in Abéché.
As many gatherings with expats seem to go, this night revolved around consumption of large bottles of Castel (Cameroonian) and Gala (local Chadian beer), grand stories of travel, and travel plans for R&R to come. Even just after one month, i had forgotten the pleasure of casual socializing—with people other than those with whom I work and live! The evening was cut off as curfew, 8p.m., fell, too quickly. Even if for just a couple hours, a small reminder of "normal" life—as normal as social life can be here—was refreshing.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Quiet murmurs
Maybe not so quiet. There was an emergency security meeting held this Monday morning by OCHA, the UN humanitarian coordinating body, calling together all UN and NGO bodies present in Abéché. The curt meeting provided little information, rather simply advised NGOs to review evacuation plans and be prepared (i.e. pack a bag) in the case of rebel “movements” targeting Chadian government troops, and a consequent necessary evacuation.
As our security officer debriefed us on the OCHA “advisory,” a Cameroonian colleague who was in Abeche last year before and during the evacuation, crossed his legs and leaned back, blowing off these warnings. He assured us that none of the signs and rumors that were abuzz last year leading up to the attempted coup d’état—and consequent evacuation—are here now.
Still, my trip to Bahai which was supposed to begin today, has been postponed until next week.
All this talk has been in light of today’s historical unprecedented indictment of Sudanese President Omar Bashir—the first indictment ever by an international court against a current head of state. While London openly celebrated the indictment outside the Sudanese Embassy, we shut down our office early this afternoon, restricted all “non-essential” movements within Abéché and between field sites until the Country Director gives us the okay to proceed as usual.
This afternoon, finishing up a strategic meeting with my supervisors on the columned veranda of our guesthouse, news of the indictment began to trickle in—in synch with the trickle of our internet connection, which these days, only begins to “flow” after working hours.
As of now, we know (thanks to New York Times, BBC, and Irin News online) Bashir “rejects” the indictment. Perhaps, this is the best case scenario. Fears of backlash against the NGO western community have caused several NGOs to evacuate Sudan already. For us, the fear is that of Sudanese rebels launching attacks against Chadian government forces in Abéché. Last year in February, rebels made it as far to the capital in the west, N’Djamena before being quelled. Or, the perhaps there is a threat of Sudanese government-backed janjaweed forces attacking Chadian-supported JEM rebels (who have headquarters in Chad). Perhaps, most viably, fighting between JEM rebels and the Sudanese government, which has already been full out some parts of Darfur for the past month, will intensify and spill over the border. Frankly, I’m still struggling trying to get my head wrapped around the complicated links of who is who and what is what here.
Earlier today in a meeting with all expat and national staff, national staff talked about witnessing an increase in armed government military trucks in the streets of Abéché. These trucks—many stolen from NGOs—frequently cruise the town, showing off their collection of guns and shoulder-launched rockets. Our staff hypothesized that more military trucks in town, perhaps, this is a good sign—this means they are not already fighting on the border. However, another colleague mentioned how the streets have been very quiet, with the rumble of an occasional helicopter passing over, heading east, breaking the silence.
In reviewing the evacuation plans with the staff, I shrunk with shame hearing the hierarchal protocol for expats and national staff. Expats are immediately granted a seat on a flight out of Abéché, national staff are provided a “safe” haven, separate from ours for themselves and their families. Beyond that, staff will be transported to the home town in the country.
Still, for the most part, inside our insulated and isolated expat compound, life continues as normal this evening—a quick game of volleyball after work, dinner time, and laptops on laps accompanied by furious typing—the rush to catch up with emails that arrived only as the internet began to work, long after the working day. With our security walkie talkies turned on and up, eventually we part ways and retire for the night, anxiously waiting for the emails in our outboxes to be delivered, tensely waiting for the heavy silence to be broken.
As our security officer debriefed us on the OCHA “advisory,” a Cameroonian colleague who was in Abeche last year before and during the evacuation, crossed his legs and leaned back, blowing off these warnings. He assured us that none of the signs and rumors that were abuzz last year leading up to the attempted coup d’état—and consequent evacuation—are here now.
Still, my trip to Bahai which was supposed to begin today, has been postponed until next week.
All this talk has been in light of today’s historical unprecedented indictment of Sudanese President Omar Bashir—the first indictment ever by an international court against a current head of state. While London openly celebrated the indictment outside the Sudanese Embassy, we shut down our office early this afternoon, restricted all “non-essential” movements within Abéché and between field sites until the Country Director gives us the okay to proceed as usual.
This afternoon, finishing up a strategic meeting with my supervisors on the columned veranda of our guesthouse, news of the indictment began to trickle in—in synch with the trickle of our internet connection, which these days, only begins to “flow” after working hours.
As of now, we know (thanks to New York Times, BBC, and Irin News online) Bashir “rejects” the indictment. Perhaps, this is the best case scenario. Fears of backlash against the NGO western community have caused several NGOs to evacuate Sudan already. For us, the fear is that of Sudanese rebels launching attacks against Chadian government forces in Abéché. Last year in February, rebels made it as far to the capital in the west, N’Djamena before being quelled. Or, the perhaps there is a threat of Sudanese government-backed janjaweed forces attacking Chadian-supported JEM rebels (who have headquarters in Chad). Perhaps, most viably, fighting between JEM rebels and the Sudanese government, which has already been full out some parts of Darfur for the past month, will intensify and spill over the border. Frankly, I’m still struggling trying to get my head wrapped around the complicated links of who is who and what is what here.
Earlier today in a meeting with all expat and national staff, national staff talked about witnessing an increase in armed government military trucks in the streets of Abéché. These trucks—many stolen from NGOs—frequently cruise the town, showing off their collection of guns and shoulder-launched rockets. Our staff hypothesized that more military trucks in town, perhaps, this is a good sign—this means they are not already fighting on the border. However, another colleague mentioned how the streets have been very quiet, with the rumble of an occasional helicopter passing over, heading east, breaking the silence.
In reviewing the evacuation plans with the staff, I shrunk with shame hearing the hierarchal protocol for expats and national staff. Expats are immediately granted a seat on a flight out of Abéché, national staff are provided a “safe” haven, separate from ours for themselves and their families. Beyond that, staff will be transported to the home town in the country.
Still, for the most part, inside our insulated and isolated expat compound, life continues as normal this evening—a quick game of volleyball after work, dinner time, and laptops on laps accompanied by furious typing—the rush to catch up with emails that arrived only as the internet began to work, long after the working day. With our security walkie talkies turned on and up, eventually we part ways and retire for the night, anxiously waiting for the emails in our outboxes to be delivered, tensely waiting for the heavy silence to be broken.
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